When I left for college, My grandmother told me 2 things.
First: “Don’t come back home pregnant”
Second: “Don’t come back home with no white boy”
My mother’s statement: Don’t come home pregnant. You come back in 4 years with your degree.
I took that to mean “IF YOU ASS COMES HOME PREGNANT, YOU ARE DEAD MEAT”
As I didn’t want to be dead meat if I didn’t come back without a degree and there was NO WAY on God’s green earth I’d come back home with a baby.
I am happy to say I came back home with a degree. In 4 years. No baby. No boyfriend or fiancée either, but hey, such is life.
I did have a very valuable commodity with me when I got on campus. Almost every type of birth control available (at the time) except an IUD (that was doctor inserted). I was quite the determined child. I was NOT getting pregnant. Unfortunately for me, once word got out that I had all sorts of birth control, I became the de facto Planned Parenthood satellite clinic. My roommate (bless her heart) was a junior who didn’t get upset or cranky when guys (and girls) knocked on our door at all hours looking for condoms (and whatnots). After awhile, we slept with the door unlocked (it was a different era then) and as they knocked, one of us would say “top drawer on right”. After about 10 seconds, the door would close and we would go back to sleep.
As with most 18 year olds with NO parental supervision, my gang of friends was absolutely wild. Like wild children on a remote desert island, we drank till our hearts content, ate till our hearts content, and studied between drinking, adventures and other mischief. I am happy to say that I didn’t miss that many classes either. Especially when the professors were quite clear three absences and you flunked. I came to classes in all matter of hangovers and all matters of half-dressed, but I was there, even if I had no clue why the chairs were dancing in front of me. Our antics were quite legendary, and thankfully before social media. Otherwise, I’d never have a job. Or a security clearance.
Going to a liberal arts college does teach you to think. After many conversations with my guy and girl friends, and a couple of makeout sessions, I came to one of my first adult decisions.
I was a size whore.
There, I said it.
The first time I made out with a ‘college’ guy, I was like, Oh BOY… oh to discover he really was a ‘boy’. Talk about pissed. So off I went to the gang to analyze the situation. I didn’t know what to think. Was this a ‘normal size’, and by the way, what is normal? I had no clue. But I knew if that was normal, I wasn’t going out like that. So, as we bantered back and forth, it hit me.
A ruler next to the bed.
Not only would it be a deterrent. It would keep me from wasting my time getting naked or half-naked for no good reason. I could save myself the torture of ‘guestimating’ the size of the packaging without having to have that awkward conversation about how it just wasn’t going to work out. Cause it wasn’t going to work out. There’s no reason for any woman to get naked for less than 7 inches (unless she’s into that) but I am not.
Hell, if amusement parks have height requirements, so the hell should I right? I mean seriously. Who would let a 4 year old ride the longest roller coaster in the world and they didn’t fit the seat?
My friends laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more. The guys however all discretely looked down. That made us laugh harder.
I understand that not everyone is ‘blessed’ in their neither regions. I get that, but seriously. And don’t try that lame excuse that you like to ‘please’ a woman orally or it’s about giving a woman pleasure first. That’s code for:
I am an average size penis. I know it’s probably not what you want or expected from all that BS I’ve been talking, but I have to get you all hot and bothered so you really don’t mind what you get size-wise and that my personality and attitude has won you over.
Don’t play. Especially with sex dude. Do Not Play. At. All
Honesty goes a long way. Okay. Not that long, but still. Honest might get you another date. Or a hand-job. It depends.